Conquering the Tempest
by Peach Italian Ice
Summary: Skipper and Kowalski are sent on their first mission together: find the hideout of a crocodile villain in South America. With the Commander's daughter on the assignment as well, however, the young penguin agents may have a hard time working together. Can they work as a team before the mission falls to pieces?
1. Unwanted Adventure

**A/N:** This story is set directly after the deaths of Manfredi and Johnson, but not much is said about how and where they died. That's a different story, one I may explore in the Summer if the show does not set up its own explanation for it before then. Also, a thank you to **GrandOldPenguin **for granting the permission to the name 'Skipper Joseph Fidelis,' which he created, and for punctuation help on the story. Enjoy!_  
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* * *

_Penguin HQ, Albany, NY, 1100 hours, many years ago_

Skipper blinked open his eyes and saw a white ceiling above him, memories floating back as he remembered where he was. The failed mission, his dead comrades beside him … it was all flooding back at once, too much, too soon. Breathing becoming panicked, he sat up and surveyed the room. It was a simple care room in the HQ: small, sparse, a bed and nightstand. He had a headache, and his left flipper throbbed.

What was he going to do now? It was all his fault. He was a failure. He would never go on another mission again.

"Skipper?" A taller penguin gently pushed open the door. "May I come in?"

"Please do, Kowalski." Skipper laid back down with a sigh as his friend slipped in.

"I'm sorry about … what happened …" Kowalski looked away. "If you don't mind me asking, what _did_ happen? How did they—you know."

Skipper shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. Read the mission file. How's the Tech Solutions work been?"

Kowalski blinked in surprise. "Alright, sir. Uh, Tech Solutions is actually more boring than I thought it would be. I'm mostly helping morons figure out how to use the laser feature on their video-watches." He rolled his eyes. "But yours truly has just been assigned a mission." Kowalski smiled, proudly pointing to himself.

"It's not as exciting as it sounds." Skipper's voice was tinged with bitterness. "People die on missions. And you don't have to call me sir; I'm not your superior."

"Sorry. Force of habit, si—Skipper. And what do you mean 'not as exciting'?" Kowalski raised an eyebrow. "I know I've only known you six months, but that doesn't sound like you at all."

"Hm. Things change." He sighed. "I'm sorry, congratulations on your mission. Be careful."

"Pft, we'll be fine. We have top-notch surveillance gear—"

"Manfredi and Johnson had top-notch surveillance gear!" Skipper shouted, sitting up with a jolt.

Kowalski shrunk back. "I—sorry. I'll be careful."

"You better be! If you don't come back, I'll never forgive you, you hear?"

"'Come back?' Skipper, aren't you coming too?"

"I—huh?" Skipper raised an eyebrow. "Of course not. Where did you hear that?"

"The mission file detailed a three-man team, you, I, and someone else yet to be announced. They haven't told you yet?"

Skipper shook his head. This had to be a mistake. "Kowalski, I just got back from a completely failed mission. There's no way—"

"It wasn't really a failure. You got the necessary information. And we don't leave for another two weeks." Kowalski handed Skipper a file he'd been holding behind his back.

Skipper flipped through it. There was his name, 'Skipper Joseph Fidelis,' in striking, sharp red text. A map was paper-clipped to the inside, showing a portion of South America. Anger sparked in him, tearing at his heartstrings. How dare they try to send him somewhere else so soon, as if Manfredi and Johnson were nothing more than pawns in a big game of strategy.

"Sir, I think their motives were that it would be good for you to get back into the swing of things," Kowalski said, noticing his expression. "Commander Magellan was hesitant to agree, but he thinks you're the best one to handle this."

"Me? I got two of our best men killed. I'm not going on another mission." Skipper averted his eyes to the wall, trying not to cry.

Kowalski opened his beak to say it wasn't his fault, then decided against it. "They're confident in you. And so am I."

Skipper hesitated. "Then you're all making a mistake." He stepped out of the bed. "I'm going back to my quarters. I'll see you at lunch." Kowalski nodded, and Skipper slipped out, heading down the hall.

* * *

Kowalski grabbed a tray and sat down in the HQ's cafeteria. The Albany base was huge, with about forty junior agents stationed there. For penguins, that was quite a lot. Kowalski liked it, but still dreamt of going out on his own one day, joining a small team and settling down somewhere. He couldn't remember the last occasion he'd had some free time to work on his projects. Just yesterday he'd come up with a plan for a time machine, but that would take months of work. Someday, though, he'd get around to it. Maybe then people would take him more seriously. He knew he was four point seven times smarter than the best at the base, but not many people seemed to care, except for Commander Magellan. But even he would choose Skipper over him, brains over brawn. Someday—

"You do realize you're muttering out loud, right?" Kowalski looked up in shock to see a familiar Magellanic penguin in a familiar blue Tami hat standing by the table, large light blue eyes giving him an amused stare.

"Oh, um—h-hi Renae. Was I?" he stuttered.

"Yes." She gave an amused smile and sat down across from him. "And you forgot to get any food, too."

Kowalski looked down and realized he'd been stabbing his fork into thin air. "Oh. Heh. I guess I did." He looked back up at her and his heart beat faster. Why was she sitting at his table?

Renae chuckled derisively before starting on her tuna. "So. A time machine, huh?"

"Uh, well, yes," Kowalski smiled. "As a matter of fact, I am working on one. It's far from operational now, but once complete, it would add a whole new dimension to penguin combat." She had to be impressed by that, right?

"Mm-hm … of course it will," she said with an amused smile. Kowalski's heart sank. She didn't believe it was possible. So small-minded … why did he even like her? Judgmental doubters … ha! He'd show them.

"You're muttering out loud again."

"Uh—huh? I was?" Kowalski blushed. "When—when did I start?"

"'Judgmental doubters,'" Renae replied, taking another bite.

"Oh." He let out a small sigh of relief. "So, um … I'm going to get my food now." He stood up and took his tray to the fish bar, hearing her chuckle behind him. He mentally slapped himself. Why couldn't he ever keep his cool around cute girls? Kowalski grabbed a few fish sticks and some salmon, considering sitting down at a different table. He couldn't do that, she'd be sure to ask why.

"So," Renae said when he returned, "My father just told me we're going on a mission."

Kowalski's heart jumped. "'We?'"

"Skipper, you, and I."

Kowalski nearly spit out his fish sticks. "Oh. So you're coming with us."

Renae raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No! No. Noooo. Why would you even suggest that? That's ridiculous." Kowalski chuckled nervously. "What I meant was that I was surprised Magellan put you on a mission so far away."

"So I'm too young for this?"

"No no no, not that, but, um, your father's told me how much he loves you, so I would have expected him to be more protective, that's all."

"Nice save, Timothy." Renae smirked. "My father trusts me." She shrugged.

"Don't call me Timothy," Kowalski retorted.

"All right, all right. Anyway, there was something else my dad wanted me to tell you. He wants us both in the training hall at 1600 hours."

"1600 hours. Got it." Kowalski nodded.

Renae grabbed her tray and stood up. "Well, I'm off to spend my three and a half hours of free time painting. I suppose you can finally start working on your 'time machine.'" She smirked again. "See ya, Timothy." She headed out.

"'I suppose you can start working on your time machine. See ya, Timothy,'" Kowalski muttered in an imitation of her voice. "Psh. Who does she think she is?"

* * *

Skipper opened the door to his old quarters and stepped in, casting a quick glance over the little room. No one had been moved in since last year, when Skipper, Manfredi, and Johnson had been stationed at the Central Park Zoo. The zoo… it was a perfect place for covert operations. Who would expect cute and cuddly zoo penguins to be up to anything? Having zookeepers constantly watching you was a pain, though. But he liked challenges, he liked pushing the limits and playing with danger. Or at least, he used to. Now what? How could he go on another mission now?

Skipper looked around at the four bunks carved into the wall. Manfredi's had cobwebs on it, Johnson's had a half-inch thick layer of dust, and his own still had the picture of the age-old legend, Buck Rockgut, hanging by it. The image was faded. The fourth bunk, never actually used, was even more dusty than the others.

On the walls were a few cupboards for personal items, and a small dresser with a green lamp sat against the far wall. Those were the only other things in the room. Skipper opened his cupboard and took out a few photos; photos he had felt not important enough to pack, apparently. Browsing through them, he was reminded of old crazy things he used to do, and he chuckled. Manfredi and Johnson had gotten him into so much trouble. There was the time they had switched the labels on all the chemical weapons analysts' beakers, the time they had replaced the sugar with salt and the creamer with orange juice just before the General made his coffee, the time they had put bubble wrap over all the doorways in the base.

"Did we even know the meaning of the word 'consequences'?" Skipper chuckled to himself. His smile faded as he realized they really hadn't—danger equaled fun, risk equaled enjoyment, and death was never serious. Now he knew he was wrong. Danger was real, and had to be feared. No, not feared. Anticipated. Conquered.

"Skipper! Skipper!" At the sound of his name he shoved the photos back into the cupboard. Kowalski burst into the room. "Help!"

"Woah there, compadre! What's wrong?" Skipper raised an eyebrow.

Kowalski was gasping for breath. "She's coming with us!"

"Who?"

"_Her!_"

"You'll have to be a little more specific."

Kowalski face-flippered. "Renae!"

Skipper's stomach did a flip. He already got two of his men killed; why oh why did the last person to join this mission have to be the commander's daughter?!

"Sweet Washington's cherry tree! Commander Magellan would send his own daughter on a mission with _me?! _Right _now?!_"

"Well yes, that too, but what I'm getting at is HOW WILL I SURVIVE THIS?!" Kowalski grabbed Skipper and shook him.

"Calm down, Kowalski!" Skipper pulled away and put on his lecture face, crossing his flippers. "In this line of work, you have to be able to work with anyone. Friction within a team causes weaknesses which can be exploited by the enemy."

"Yeah, right." Kowalski set his wings on his hips. "Like you don't feel the same way."

"I—what? That's irrelevant." Skipper's face flushed red. "The point is that I know how to _deal _with people, whereas _you_ freak out much too easily."

"I don't 'freak out.' I—okay, yeah. I freak out." Kowalski's flippers dropped to his sides. "And you know how to deal with people? Ha! So it was a _different _Skipper Joseph Fidelis that irked the general and nearly got himself kicked out of the P.I.A. over a _tuna sandwich!_"

"What? I was right!" Skipper protested. "You put the mayonnaise on BOTH sides of the bread first."

"That's not even pertinent to anything!" Kowalski threw his flippers in the air.

"Well, what if someone messed with your science whozy-whazzits and said that … the atomic structure of … Francium is extremely unstable. Wouldn't you correct them?"

"Well yes, but that's diff—wait a minute. What you said actually was entirely true." Kowalski's eyes widened.

Skipper raised an eyebrow. "Really? Francium exists? C'mon now, that sounds made up."

"It's not," Kowalski retorted. "And we're really off-topic now, aren't we? Back to the point, what am I supposed to do?"

Skipper hesitated. "Well, you may be half-right. This mission is a bad idea." He sighed. "I'll talk to the Commander about it tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Thank you, Skipper." Kowalski relaxed slightly before turning towards the door. He paused before going out. "Are you, you know, alright with all this free time? If you don't want to be alone, you can watch me work on some inventions."

Skipper thought about it for a minute. Deep down he really wanted company, but he didn't want to sound desperate. And watching Kowalski blow things up was pretty desperate. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine."

"Alright. See you at dinner." Kowalski smiled before leaving the tiny room.

Once he had gone, Skipper took the pictures out again and sat down on his bunk, heaving a long sigh. If he had been more of a leader and less of a cohort to Manfredi and Johnson, maybe they would have learned to make better choices. Maybe this, maybe that, every possible scenario nagged his mind. He stayed there for hours, staring at the images and trying not to cry.


	2. Letting Go and Taking Off

Kowalski walked out of the training room covered in bruises. He really needed to take more lessons from Skipper.

"Stupid distraction …," he muttered to himself. "Curse you, weak focus! You're going to get yourself killed on this upcoming mission, Kowalski. Because you just can't—"

"Who are you talking to?" Kowalski looked to his left and realized there were a few other agents in the hallway.

"Oh, um, just thinking out loud," he said, continuing down the concrete hall. He sighed. "Kowalski, you've gotta stop talking to yourself. You'll just drive—AUGH, I'm doing it again!"

After reaching the end of the hallway, he opened a door and slipped into his living quarters: a small room, beige-walled, with a cot and a nightstand. Tech Solutions was given far more comfortable living spaces; Kowalski wasn't sure whether he was glad or nervous to be leaving the department.

He took a little mechanic device from the drawer and sat down on his cot to begin fiddling with it. Flippers made it hard to fit small gears together, but he was ambidextrous, which made it just a tad easier. As he worked his inner swirl of emotions out through his work, he felt himself calm down. This was why he liked inventing; the world and all its turmoil wasn't important when he was working. It was just him, his mind, and his project. And of course, creativity. Why didn't Renae understand that inventing and painting weren't so different at all?

He remembered something she had said while they were training earlier: "You think too much, Timothy. About everything. Your thoughts are correct, but there's just so many of them you can't pick one and act on it. You should be able to beat me, but you have too much on your mind." If only she knew.

His reply hadn't come out the way he had wanted it to. "Well, yes, but … you're not exactly the fastest decision-maker either."

"Well, at least I'm_ trying_ to work out a good move," she had replied with a huff. "You look like you're a satellite in orbit around Jupiter." Of course then he _had_ to point out that man-made satellites didn't circle Jupiter, and that the gravitational pull would be too powerful for him to orbit without a launch speed of blah blah blah, and of course she _had_ to take that chance and give him a killer roundhouse kick to the face and win, albeit unfairly, and—

Kowalski realized he was pushing too hard on his invention, and a small metal piece broke off. He sighed and began to search the room for it. He was looking under the cot when Skipper entered.

"… Kowalski? What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, hi Skipper." Kowalski crawled out from under the cot and stood up, chuckling sheepishly. Goodness, did the universe exist to embarrass him? "I was just looking for a piece to my little invention. It's about 2.3 millimeters long."

"'About'?" Skipper looked down. "This it?" He picked up a silvery small something from the floor.

Kowalski's jaw dropped. "How did you … nevermind. Thanks."

Skipper gave an amused smile. "No problemo, compadre. I was just coming to ask you if the Commander had gone back to his office."

"As a matter of fact, yes," Kowalski answered, snapping the piece back onto the contraption. "He said he was heading there right after Renae and I were through sparring."

Skipper looked him over. "Did you let a girl beat you?"

"I—y—hey. One, it's the Commander's daughter. Two, I'm NOT having the most relaxing of days today, and THREE POINT ONE FOUR, she attacked at a moment when I thought we were having a time out."

"Does the enemy give time-outs, Kowalski? I don't think so! Manfredi and Johnson thought so! Look what happened to them!" For a scary moment Skipper's tone was dead serious.

Kowalski shivered. "Y-you're right, Skipper. I'll be more careful next time?"

"Good. I'm off to speak with Magellan and hopefully get us out of this crazy adventure. Good luck with your … uh … whatever that thing is." He pointed at the invention.

"Haven't named it yet. Actually, I'm not even sure what it does. But thank you." Skipper gave a last salute before slipping out, and Kowalski looked down at his contraption curiously. "Maybe I could make this into a shrink ray … nah. Shrink ray technology is impossible."

* * *

"Commander?" Skipper tentatively opened the door to Magellan's office. It reminded him of the first time he'd opened that door, when he had barely started training. He realized he felt more nervous now than he did then. He had no idea what Magellan had wanted that first time; nothing to expect. This time he had presuppositions.

The office was small and simple, beige-walled, with a large mahogany desk in the center. Behind this desk was Commander Magellan.

"Yes, Fidelis, come in. I heard you don't want to accept this mission?" Magellan was of intimidating build, standing straight and tall. He had a bold white stripe surrounding his face, and a crew cut of white hair. His eyes were green, glinting with a strong countenance and a hint of curiosity.

"Y-yes, sir. I don't feel like I'd be a help to the cause. I just returned from a failed mission in which I lost my two teammates. With all due respect, sir, it's madness to send me on another mission. To be honest I thought I'd be expelled from the P.I.A. the second I got back." Skipper let his eyes drop to the wooden floor.

"What are you talking about, Fidelis?" Magellan sounded honestly surprised. "You can't be blamed for what happened. The fact is that this is a dangerous line of work. Nothing can prevent these things."

Skipper looked up. "But—if I had—"

Magellan put his flippers behind his back, attempting a smile. "'If's. Life has too many 'if's. The past is painful. You know that my wife was killed because of what I do." A faraway look appeared in his eyes. "Living and letting go is important. That's why I want you to stay in the game. I once said I thought you were the best, and I still think that. Besides, I'm confident you will succeed in this mission. That's why I'm charging you with the care of my daughter."

Skipper's stomach lurched. "Excuse me, sir? Are you insane? I can't—" Magellan cleared his throat, and Skipper realized his insubordination. "Right. Will do, sir."

"You're more than able to protect her. Maybe even teach her a few moves. You're quite good at demonstration."

"Yes, sir." Skipper saluted, standing up straighter.

"Good. You won't be leaving for another twelve days, so relax, take time to grieve. You can go back to your Central Park base if you want, but I think it'd be best for you to be around other penguins. You can stay in one of the empty rooms. Here's your copy of the full mission file. You're dismissed." Magellan handed Skipper a manila envelope from his desk. Skipper shuddered slightly, remembering his adventure with Manfredi and Johnson in Manila. "Fidelis? I said you're dismissed."

"Huh? Oh. Right. Thank you, sir." Skipper saluted again and left the office, reading the file as he went down the hall. So no one was getting out of this mission. Kowalski would not be happy.

* * *

_Several days later…_

Skipper, Kowalski and Renae stood on the concrete floor in the penguin habitat, the guys wearing black bow ties and the girl wearing a black floral hat. They were alone; everyone else had left the memorial service about an hour ago. It was silent almost to the point of awkwardness. Skipper was staring into space with a reminiscent look of melancholy. Kowalski and Renae exchanged a sympathetic glance, and he gave her a slight nod.

"So," Renae said, looking around, "this is the Central Park Zoo."

"Hm?" Skipper broke out of his trance and turned to face her. "Oh. Yes, the one and only."

"It's nice. I like the posters."

"I'm not surprised." Skipper attempted a smile. "It's okay here, I guess, despite the fact it's host to one very annoying lion." He cast a glance over to Alex's habitat before turning to Kowalski and Renae with a hardened look in his eye. "Not to change the subject too fast, but we're all going to be put on the same mission team together for the first time, so we should go over a few things."

"Right now?" Kowalski asked.

"Yes, right now. None of us has had any official experience with the others, and in the past we've been …," Skipper cleared his throat, "not the best at working together. But starting tomorrow, when we participate in our first combat simulation as a team, we need to all remember we're on the same side."

Renae's eyes flashed beneath her hat's dark brim. "So now you're the mature and responsible one and we're the misbehaving children?"

Skipper blinked. "I didn't say that. But I _do_ have twice the experience. Infinity times the experience, actually, since neither of you have ever been on a real mission before." He fell silent, casting a glance up at the sky before drawing a deep breath.

"Well, that isn't the _only_ kind of experience that's valuable," Kowalski inputted.

"True," Renae agreed. "Creativity, flexibility, and imagination are all useful."

"I was going to say intelligence, analysis, and the scientific method," Kowalski countered. Renae rolled her eyes.

"Yes, your over-analyzing is _so_ successful."

"Well— but— sometimes it is!" Kowalski crossed his flippers and shot her a glare that lasted but a moment. He sighed. "Refer back to your comment about misbehaving children. Sorry Skipper." Kowalski turned to Skipper, but his back was turned. "Skipper?"

"Huh?" He turned around. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking … You two head back to the train station, I'll catch up. We'll talk back at the base." Kowalski and Renae exchanged a glance before nodding and jumping out of the penguin habitat.

"Do you think Skipper's okay?" Renae asked when they were out of earshot.

"I'm not sure," Kowalski replied. "But he's pretty resilient. He'll be fine eventually."

"It's the 'eventually' part that worries me. I shouldn't have snapped back there. It's just that …"

"What?"

"Nevermind." Renae shook her head.

Back on the concrete floe, Skipper was staring forward at the picture of his comrades erected in the zoo square and surrounded by flowers. They hadn't been at the Central Park Zoo very long, but they'd made some good memories. He walked over to the picture and said a quick prayer before turning away.

"Time to say goodbye," he whispered. "Rest in peace, friends."

* * *

_Several more days later…_

Skipper woke up to the blaring tune of a trumpet playing Reverie, jerking him out of his dreams and making his head hurt. He covered his ears, remembering just how annoying that alarm was. He hadn't heard it since before he set out with Manfredi and Johnson. So why was he hearing it today?

The South America mission!

Skipper jumped out of bed, instinctively striking a karate stance. "Up and at 'em, men!" he shouted, looking to his left and right before realizing he was alone. He had no men. Not anymore. Tears forced their way from his eyes.

Sitting down on his temporary bed, he recounted last week's funeral and memorial service in his mind. He still didn't think he was ready to move on.

But the mission was today.

He relaxed and drew a long breath. This mission might be an unpleasant one, but it was important. He had to pull it together for the sake of the cause.

A few hours later, he was sitting in the driver's seat of a penguin-sized plane on which Kowalski had worked on to improve the design of the controls. He and Renae were in the back.

"Good luck Fidelis, Kowalski," Magellan said, leaning in through the doorway.

"Thank you, sir," Kowalski said.

"Thank you, sir," Skipper remarked nearly at the same time.

Magellan turned to his daughter. "Good luck, Renae. Remember everything I taught you."

"Bye, Dad, love you," Renae replied with a smile. Skipper started up the plane.

"Love you too," the Commander said just before the door closed and the plane began moving. In a few seconds it was taking off.

"Alrighty, this adventure is officially under way," Skipper said once they were in the air. "Kowalski, officially brief us, if you will."

"Alright." Kowalski opened a file. "Our mission is to locate and gather intel on a supposed hideout of penguin enemy number four, a crocodile who calls himself 'The Duke'. The hideout is allegedly in the north-most part of Chile. We will land in the area and meet up with our contact, a certain Agent Sphenson, who originally spotted what he presumed to be the Duke's hideout on his last mission in that area. Once there, Sphenson will help us—"

"Okay, we get it by now. More words than necessary, Kowalski," Skipper said.

"Sorry." There were a few moments of awkward silence before Renae spoke up.

"So … how many hours to Chile?"

"About elevenish," Skipper answered.

"Oh. So, um, what are we supposed to do for eleven hours?"

"We could talk about quantum physics!" Kowalski piped up.

"No!" Skipper and Renae answered at the same time.

"Nobody appreciates quantum physics," Kowalski muttered. There were a few more moments of awkward silence.

"Um, we could play twenty questions?" Skipper suggested. "I'll go first."

"I don't know how many hours that'll keep us entertained, but sure," Renae said. "Kowalski?"

"I guess that sounds like fun. Person, place, or thing?"

The game ended up keeping them entertained for three full hours, then they moved on to Two Truths and a Lie, Word Association, and other amusements. They were each actually starting to enjoy the company of the others, until Skipper spotted a dark cluster of clouds ahead, dotted by bursts of lightning.

"A storm," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

* * *

**A/N: **This story's new update schedule is Thursdays and Sundays, with the exception of Sunday, Jan. 27th.


	3. Pointing Flippers

"How on earth does a cobbler make you think of a storm?" Kowalski asked.

"No, I mean look, a storm." Skipper pointed. Kowalski and Renae followed his flipper, and both paled.

"That looks intimidating. We should go around it," Renae asserted.

"That'll take an extra two hours," Skipper protested. "We'll get there faster if we just fly straight through it. This is a penguin plane, she can handle anything."

"Skipper, are you sure that's a good—"

"Of course I'm sure, Kowalski. It's just a storm. People fly in storms all the time."

"Actually—" Kowalski's sentence was interrupted by a huge gust of wind throwing the plane to the side. The dark clouds were all around them now, blocking out the sun. Skipper tightened his grip on the controls, pulling hard to one side to counter the wind. Another gust blew the plane backwards, knocking them all against their seats. Skipper pulled hard on a lever to force the plane forward, but the controls began sparking. The lever stuck.

"I can't—why isn't this—working?" Skipper grunted, still pulling.

"Skipper!" Renae screamed, pointing towards the swirling mass of air they were headed for. "You have to pull up!"

"I'm trying!" Skipper shouted back. Renae dove for the controls.

"Let me try." Skipper obediently moved aside. Renae moved a few other levers and steered the plane left, heading for the eye of the storm.

"What are you doing?!" Skipper cried.

"Inside the eye is the calmest part. The plane will be ripped to shreds unless we go into it."

"But just outside of the eye is the _most _dangerous part!" Kowalski protested.

"I know, but my dad taught me how to fly," Renae said.

"So you know what you're doing?"

"Not really. But what choice do we have?" Renae jerked the plane hard, entering the eye's outer rim and desperately trying to maintain control. She was actually steering it well, for a while, before the controls sparked again, and the plane pitched forward, flipping over itself. The wind had claimed the flying vessel, tossing it around like a leaf in a breeze. The penguins were tossed around as well, and Renae flew away from the control panel. The storm threw the plane into its eye, and for a moment they were completely still. Then the plane plummeted, racing down towards the ocean far below.

Skipper grabbed at the controls, but he was flailing in the air, unable to even figure out which way was up anymore. His stomach lurched. Was he screaming? He realized he was, and Renae and Kowalski were, too. He'd experienced his life flashing before his eyes in the past, but never quite like this. Plummeting was not one of the ways he'd approached death before, and the sheer ripping sensation in his heart was terrifying. A small revelation came to him: he was glad penguins couldn't fly.

Another revelation hit him: if he didn't actually try to land this thing, they were all going to die. He made another desperate attempt to grab the controls, and this time succeeded in getting a flipper on one of the levers, praying it wouldn't malfunction again. He pulled himself closer and heaved the lever upwards, pulling the plane into a position more parallel with the ocean below. His muscles screamed as he tried to control the hulking metal vehicle, but at least he had some control at all.

It felt like forever, but after a few moments the impact happened. Skipper was ill-prepared for it. He flew forward, losing grip on the controls, and hit the ceiling of the plane, hearing a loud splash. The splash wasn't like the squishy sound of a cannonball in the pool. This splash was menacing, the sound of a thousand gallons of water being slammed into, rushing up into the air like a hurricane. The plane bobbed up and down for a few moments before it was still, calm, and quiet. Skipper's head throbbed and spun, but he managed to sit up and realize he was lying in a few inches of water. When he thought it was over, an explosion racked the flying machine, smacking them against walls and ceiling and floor as the plane flipped over. Skipper sat up a second time. The plane was now upside-down.

"Kowalski? Renae? Status report," he groaned.

"I'm … okay, I think," Renae murmured, getting up. She found her hat hooked on a lever and put it on. "I'm alive …"

Skipper let out a sigh of relief and looked around for Kowalski. He was lying on the floor, unmoving. "Kowalski, talk to me, man."

"Puppies live in the big blue house," Kowalski moaned. Skipper gave a second sigh.

"So no one died. That's one accomplishment. Now that that's all cleared up … _WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, RENAE?!" _Skipper turned on her, shooting a glare. "Go straight through the eye! Great plan! Now, we're crashed in the middle of the ocean who-knows-where! Our supplies are wet! We have no vehicle!"

Renae cringed for a moment, then straightened up and returned his glare. "If I remember correctly, it was _you _who wanted to fly through the storm in the first place! 'Get there faster,' you said, 'this plane can handle anything,' you said. Well, guess what? _It can't!_"

"Well—I—we _would _have been fine, if you had let me handle the controls the whole time!" Skipper stuttered.

"Oh, really? So you're a better pilot than me, now? When did that happen?" Renae gave him a smoldering glare. "And—wait. Kowalski's the one who _built _the controls! Why aren't you blaming him?"

"Well you can't really blame an unconscious guy, can you?"

"Wha—huh?" Kowalski sat up. "Are we alive?"

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" Renae and Skipper shouted in his face, causing him to fall back down.

"What?" Kowalski scrambled to his feet. "How is this _my _fault?"

"If you had built the controls right, we wouldn't have crashed!" Skipper snapped, thrusting a flipper towards him.

"My construction was flawless! They would have worked perfectly if Renae had handled them _correctly! _If _I _had been driving the plane—"

"Stop!" Renae suddenly shouted. They fell silent. "We're wasting our time. We should be trying to figure out where we are and what to do next. All these 'ifs' didn't happen and never will. What happened is that we crashed. Let's fix _that _problem instead of all these hypothetical ones."

Skipper sighed. "Right. We need to stay level-headed if we want to get out of our current dilemma. We need to think of our options."

Kowalski dug through his bag until he found his notebook, only partially soaked, and started scribbling on it. "Well, we went about five hours before hitting the storm, which was blowing in a southeastern direction. So, we should be roughly three hundred miles south of Mexico, and roughly fifty miles east of South America."

Skipper blinked. That was impressive. "Okay, but how does that help us?"

"Well, if we could somehow get moving west, we should hit land somewhere in Colombia within a few hours!" Kowalski smiled.

"Colombia?" Skipper groaned. "Well, it's land. But how are we supposed to get moving?"

"Maybe we could use parts of the plane to build a raft," Renae proposed.

"Exactly what I was going to suggest," Kowalski said.

"Right. Let's move, then, because I think this water is getting higher." Skipper grabbed a wrench and a screwdriver out of his bag. "Never leave home without a few tools. Let's take this baby apart."

About an hour later they were out on the ocean, using the plane's curved ceiling as a raft and the wings as paddles. It wasn't the most seaworthy craft, but they were alive, and thankful for that. Skipper was still seething internally at Renae and Kowalski—and himself—but tried not to let it show. This was a mission. He had a job to do; this wasn't the time.

"Is that land?" Renae asked, pointing ahead towards a thin dark line on the horizon.

"Yes! YES! Sweet Mother of Einstein, we ARE close to Colombia!" Kowalski shouted in exultation.

"You mean you weren't sure before?!" Skipper exclaimed.

"Well, I was forty-eight percent sure. That's almost half!"

Skipper shook his head. "Your logic got us to hope, at least. Renae, get ready the compass and maps, if they're dry."

She shot him a look. "You could say 'please,' you know."

Skipper stiffened. "Excuse me, but I'm in charge here, sister."

"Not really. We're supposed to work as a team." Renae did get the compass and maps out of the bag, however, and examined them. The maps were a little damp, but still readable.

"You can't have a team without a leader. And I have the most experience. So that puts me in charge."

"My father didn't say anyth—"

"Your father asked me to protect you!" Skipper suddenly shouted. "I'm already doing a pretty lousy job, so would you stop making this harder than it already is?"

Renae fell silent. Kowalski looked back and forth between them with awkwardness. "Um, not to, uh, break in here, but we _may _want to do something about the sharks."

"_What?!"_ Skipper wildly looked around their makeshift raft to see fins circling them. "Oh, _come on! _Can this day get any worse?"

"Studies show you're thirty percent more likely to have something ELSE bad happen to you if you say that," Kowalski warned.

"Oh, no one cares about you and your studies! Options, man, options!" Skipper backed away from the edge as one of the sharks jumped out of the water and snapped at them. They were Caribbean reef sharks, not entirely full-grown from the looks of it, but still a heck of a lot bigger than they were.

"So I'm the options guy now?" Kowalski asked, flipping open his notebook.

"Well, you're pretty good with numbers and analysis, so, sure, whatever works!" Another shark came up, and Skipper used a martial-arts-style kick to send it swimming away again.

"Whatever you think of, think of it fast," Renae inputted.

"Well, _duh!_" Kowalski remarked, scribbling away. "Alright. We're completely surrounded and they've already caught our scent, so really the only thing we can do is get the raft moving away as fast as we can. Worst case scenario is, we get torn up to little shreds and then eaten. Obviously. Best case scenario, we narrowly escape death with maybe one or two missing limbs, which could be achieved if one of us gets into the water and pushes."

"Splendid! We all get a chance to volunteer for a missing limb!" Skipper sarcastically remarked, kicking away another shark.

"Logically speaking, who's the fastest swimmer?"

"Pretty sure I am," Renae said flatly. "Seeing as I was on the local swim team when I was younger."

Skipper shook his head. "Renae, like I said, I promised your father—"

"It's not up for debate. Start paddling!"

"Renae!" both Skipper and Kowalski shouted as she jumped in. The raft began to move, albeit slowly. Remembering their job, each picked up a wing and used it like an oar. They gained speed and passed out of the sharks' circle. Skipper looked over his shoulder and saw they were now pursuing them.

"Renae, steer left!" he shouted. She obeyed, barely escaping the snap of another shark.

"'Walski!" she gasped. "Are we going to have to do this all the way to shore?"

"Well," he replied, paddling wildly, "Caribbean reef sharks are known for their persistence, and in penguin history have been known to pursue their prey until it is completely devoured."

"Thanks Timothy, that's _very _comforting!" she shouted back, kicking her legs faster.

"Would you rather I lie and say they're cuddly teddy bears?" Kowalski snapped. Renae was now breathing too hard to reply.

"Cut it out, you two!" Skipper said, casting a fervent look behind him. A shark was coming dangerously close to biting off her leg. He felt a heavy panic grip him, remembering the piranhas in Ecuador. This couldn't end the same way. "Kowalski!" he suddenly shouted, "keep paddling!"

"Skipper, what are you—"

The rest of Kowalski's sentence was muffled as Skipper hit the cold water. He opened his eyes and broke the surface, dashing next to Renae.

"You're crazy," Renae gasped as Skipper began to fight off the sharks surrounding her. "You are grade A insane."

Skipper was too preoccupied to answer. He muscles screamed as he struggled to keep up with the raft, stay afloat, and fend off impending attacks to Renae. In all honesty, he thought, they weren't as hard of opponents as he thought they were going to be. Most of the sharks were waiting for a clear shot, darting away as soon as one of his limbs made harsh contact with their cartilage. Cowards. The hard part was the sheer mind-numbing terror of the moment. The surface of the water was an awkward place for defense.

Skipper's heart beat faster as the adrenaline really started to kick in, sharpening his focus in an exhilarating way. He would have enjoyed it a month ago, but now it just stung, reminding him that they were actually in life-threatening peril. Somehow, however, they managed to keep holding on.

"We're almost there!" Kowalski shouted. Skipper barely heard over the splashing. A beady dark eye, a flash of reddish teeth, a fin to the face … and finally, sand hitting his foot. The adrenaline turned nearly to superpower to make that final stretch up onto the beach, where all three penguins finally let themselves flop in relief on the gritty sand. Skipper sat up, breathing heavily, as he watched the sharks at last give up and swim away.

"Well … that was … horrifying," Renae said, massaging her left flipper.

"You can say that again." Skipper stood up and turned around, looking at the somewhat exotic flora. "So we're somewhere in Colombia."

"Yes," Kowalski affirmed, still gasping for breath. "Somewhere."


	4. Somewhere in Colombia

Skipper let his gaze wander from the expanse of palm trees to the expanse of sand to the expanse of the ocean. 'Somewhere' was right. They were completely lost.

"We're completely lost," Renae stated.

"Exactly," Skipper agreed, grabbing his pack from their makeshift raft. "Could this get any worse?"

"Don't say that!" Kowalski shouted, getting up from the sand and knocking on a random tree.

"Oh, _come on. _I thought you were a scientist," Skipper scoffed. "You really believe in that superstition?"

"I believe in consistent data. And when someone says that, something _always _happens."

Renae sighed, rubbing her eyes. "How come it got better the last time Skipper said it, then? I mean, we're alive, aren't we?"

"Barely," Kowalski muttered.

Skipper surveyed the land again, survival instincts kicking into gear. "We can do it. Now's the time to put your training to good use. Manfredi, Johnson, and I've been in survival situations worse."

"Right." Renae stood up. "What first?"

"Water is the first priority. You two start up a fire. I'll go look for a spring or a stream." Skipper shouldered his pack and began to walk towards the vegetation.

"Woah woah woah, wait, you're not going in there alone," Renae said, grabbing his flipper.

"Well, if I take you with me, then Kowalski gets left alone. And he's much more likely to be eaten by wild animals."

"_Hey._"

"Then we'll all go," Renae suggested, still holding onto Skipper. "Strength in numbers."

Skipper scoffed. "I don't need backup. I'll just be putting you in unnecessary danger."

"But—"

"Stay here. That's an order. Keep eachother safe." Skipper shook off her flipper and continued towards the jungle.

"Aye, Skipper," Kowalski said, saluting.

"Fine," Renae sighed. Within seconds Skipper was swallowed by the flora, leaving the two alone on the beach. The waves continued to pound the shore, oblivious to their petty concerns. Renae sat down on the wreckage of the raft. "He's going to get himself killed," she muttered.

"Skipper knows what he's doing," Kowalski said, voice wavering slightly. "He's battled plenty bad guys. All we have to face right now are the forces of nature." He walked over to where Renae sat and grabbed his own pack, pulling a book out of it. He began to flip through its pages.

"What are you doing? We're supposed to be building a fire."

"I know." He held the survival guide in front of her face.

She sighed. "Really? You can't remember how to make a fire?"

"Well … kind of," he sheepishly replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean I know that fire is the rapid oxidation of a material in the exothermic chemical process of combustion, but …"

"Oh, give me that thing." Renae grabbed the book and began to flip through it herself.

"Now what are_ you _doing?"

"Reading how to make a fire, of course."

"But—I—nevermind," Kowalski sighed.

* * *

Skipper didn't want to admit it, but he thought that he might have, just maybe, possibly, gotten himself lost. He had been bending vines to mark his path, but he soon realized it was impossible to tell the bent vines from the twisty ones. He had pulled out his compass only to find out it had been smashed to bits in the crash. He had, therefore, decided to sit down on a rock and attempt to get his sense of direction back.

"Curse you, jungle, curse you, plane crash, curse you, life!" he grumbled, pounding his knee with a fist. Did he pass that large fern on the way into this clearing, or was that a different fern?

His hard focus was interrupted by a sharp ringing noise that sounded very out-of-place in the surrounding wilderness. Skipper slipped off his pack and dug through it, finding a video watch near the bottom that had somehow managed to survive. He pressed a green button, causing an image of Commander Magellan to flicker onto the screen.

"Fidelis! Oh, thank goodness! When no one answered the plane's video phone I—where on earth are you?" The commander's expression changed from relief to confusion as he saw the trees on background.

Skipper's heart skipped a beat. "Well, um, we kind of crashed."

"You _what?! _Where are the others? Is everyone alright?"

"We're fine, we're fine," Skipper said. "We're in Colombia." He then proceeded to recount their misadventure. Magellan's eyes widened further.

"Thank the Lord you're alive! Don't worry, we'll rout the signal and send help immediately. Just _stick together._ Where's Renae? I'd like to speak to her."

"Oh, um …" Skipper swatted at a mosquito. "She and Kowalski are on the beach building a fire. I'm searching for fresh water."

Magellan sighed. "Fidelis, no more going off alone until help arrives. Teammates are—"

"I know, I know, 'the most valuable gift we have to defeat evil, evil's downfall is that it doesn't trust anyone,' yadda yadda," Skipper sighed. He was met by a stern glare. Skipper chuckled nervously. "Sorry, sir."

"Your insubordination is well understandable considering your predicament." Magellan smiled. "Speaking of teammates, how are you managing?"

"Eh, we're … getting along. Sort of."

"Skipper, I know my daughter can be difficult to work with—trust me, I know." He sighed. "But she really does look up to you. Take care of her for me."

"Yes, sir." Skipper saluted, but something about what the commander said unsettled him for some reason. He couldn't figure out what.

"Thank you." Magellan began typing at his desk computer. "Hm … that's not good …"

"What's not good?"

"Something is jamming the signal. I can't get a read on your location."

"Jamming? There's nothing else out here." Skipper gestured at the ferns for emphasis.

"Well, for some reason it isn't working. I th—would be—if—could—" The commander's voice and image cut in and out.

"Sir? What was that? You're breaking up."

"Skip—need—watch—stay—help—"

"I can't understand you. You're—" The screen went black. Skipper cursed and threw the video watch onto the dirt. The soft, mossy ground absorbed the shock, undercutting the dramatic gesture.

Now what? At least they knew back at HQ that they were in trouble and in Colombia. That was better off than they were before.

"Well," he sighed, picking up the video watch and putting it back in his pack, "looks like we're on our own for now, which means I had better find water and a way back soon."

* * *

Renae watched the sun set over the pacific ocean. It was absolutely gorgeous; the sky and the sun didn't care about the worries of three penguins. They just went on being beautiful. She got out her small canvas and brushes from her pack. They weren't too badly damaged. Two brushes were snapped in half, but the other four were intact. The tubes of acrylics and the pallet were also fine. The fire crackling in the background was a soothing noise, completing the effect of a perfect setting.

The fire … now THAT had been a lot harder than either of them had imagined. But, three arguments, seven failed attempts, and two minor burns later, they had finally succeeded.

Kowalski's voice broke into the peace and quiet. "How can you paint at a time like this?"

She clenched a flipper. "Well, what else are we supposed to do to pass the time?" He didn't answer.

She swirled her brush around a playful mixture of reds and purples, oranges and pale blues, yellows and pinks and burgundies. Touching the brush to canvas, she made the colors glide into the fabric of her masterpiece. It would never be as lovely as the real thing, but there was nothing more blissful than creating beauty through those peaceful strokes.

The colors, as magnificent as they were, weren't enough to distract her from her heavy thoughts. Renae set the brush down and turned to face Kowalski, who was busily scribbling calculations in the sand with a stick. "It's been hours. You don't think … I mean, do you think Skipper's alright?"

Kowalski paused. "I'm sure he's just having a hard time finding good water."

"You don't sound sure."

He sighed. "Well, I'm not _entirely _sure." He stood up, surveying his doodles. "Skipper left four hours and eight minutes ago. With the level of vegetation here I'd estimate there's at least one freshwater spring within a five-mile radius. It's quite possible he hasn't found it yet. But he should know enough to make sure he gets back by dark." Kowalski looked towards the forest, intimidating in the twilight. "So, we should expect him soon."

Renae glanced down at her picture and applied a finishing brushstroke, then laid down on the sand and exhaled deeply. "He could have gotten eaten by a coyote."

She couldn't tell exactly in the firelight, but she was sure he was rolling his eyes at her. "Renae, coyotes are _not _indigenous to Colombia."

"Whatever's the Colombian equivalent of a coyote, then," Renae muttered.

"Well, there's jaguars, cougars, bears, foxes, anacondas, piranhas …"

"That is _not _helping."

"… giant otters, weasels, kinkajous, coatimundis, ocelots …," Kowalski continued.

"Okay, you can stop now." Renae rolled her eyes.

"… bats, capuchins, oh, did you know there are twenty-three species of opossum in Colombia?"

"Oh, really? I've always wondered how many opossum species there were in Colombia."

"Really? Because—"

"I was being sarcastic." Renae sat up, looking towards the silhouettes of the trees and shuddering. "Seriously though, that's a lot of wildlife. And I'm sure a lot of it is bigger than a penguin." She looked at the sky. "It's dark now. If Skipper doesn't—" Renae was interrupted by a rustling. The two penguins both shrieked and grabbed each other, then each quickly pushed the other away.

"Was that a jaguar?" she asked, voice quivering.

"I- I don't think so, they wouldn't usually venture this far out of the forest," Kowalski stuttered in reply, grabbing his stick. "B- but you can never be sure."

She surveyed his weapon with critical eye. "A stick? Really?"

Before Kowalski could reply, their predator revealed himself. It was Skipper who stumbled out of the bushes, to their extreme relief.

"Skipper!" They both rushed to give him a hug.

"I knew you'd come back," Renae said as they broke away from each other.

"No you didn't, you were more worried than me," Kowalski protested.

"Okay, okay, yeah, I was pretty worried. Did you find water?"

"I did, eventually," Skipper said, holding up a large canteen. "There's a spring about a mile thataway. Here, give me your canteens." They obeyed, and the water was soon evenly distributed. They used water purification tablets just to be safe. Skipper let himself collapse near the fire.

"Did you encounter any of the native fauna?" Kowalski asked as he and Renae also sat down around the fire.

"Not really. Had to take down several anacondas, that's all."

Kowalski and Renae exchanged a glance.

Skipper chuckled. "Nah, just kidding. I did see one, though. She didn't notice me, but it was too close for comfort."

"See, Kowalski? Skipper's safe, and now we have water. Things have been getting better, not worse," Renae remarked.

"Well, the universe must not have heard him," Kowalski replied. "Or maybe it's just playing a cruel trick on us, getting our hopes up before crushing our souls!" He made a crushing motion with his flippers for emphasis. "The universe has no mercy."

A roll of thunder sounded, and large drops of rain began to soak them.

"_I'm sorry, universe!_" Kowalski shouted at the sky as they pulled their packs over their heads like umbrellas. Renae grabbed her painting and tried to shield it as best as she could. The fire fizzled and died.

"You two should have pitched the tents," Skipper said. "C'mon, help me set them up." The three pulled the tarp and rods out of their backpacks, trying to keep the water from getting the rest of their things wet. The wind picked up, throwing bits of wet sand into their faces as they worked.

"We need to move closer to the forest!" Renae shouted. "Or else the tents will just blow away!" She held on to her hat.

"Right," Skipper agreed. They walked closer to the tree line, desperately trying to hold on to the tarps. The wind seemed insistent upon taking their shelter away, blowing the metal support rods all over the beach. Kowalski attempted to fetch them all while Skipper and Renae tried to pound the first stakes in the ground. Somehow they managed to get the smaller tent up. Skipper was attempting to attach the tarp of the bigger tent, but the larger surface area meant that the wind was pulling on it even harder. "Help!" Even with Renae and Kowalski grabbing on, it slipped out of their fingers, flapping into a tall tree and being ripped asunder by its branches.

"Great!" Renae yelled. "Now we only have one tent!"

"Oh, forget it. Take shelter!" Skipper said. They all shoved their things and themselves into the little tent that was originally intended just for Renae.

Once inside, Skipper zipped the opening closed, and the sounds of the wind and rain were muffled. He dug around for a flashlight and flicked it on. It was cramped, and soon became hot.

"This is _really _not fair," Kowalski stated.

"Well, maybe God is trying to teach you a lesson to _shut your big mouth every once in a while!_" Renae snapped.

"Touche. Wait! I have a theory," Kowalski said. He cleared his throat. "_Can this get any worse?_"

A loud crack of lighting made them all cry out.

"Oh, come on now!" Kowalski shouted.

Skipper exhaled in exasperation. "From now on, nobody say anything along those lines. Now, who packed the tuna? I bet you're as hungry as I am." At the word 'tuna,' Kowalski and Renae remembered how long it had been since they'd eaten. Kowalski dove into his pack and procured a can.

"Oh, sweet fish," he murmured.

"Only a few bites for each of us, since we have no idea how long it'll be until they send help," Skipper cautioned. They each took a spoonful and put the can back.

"Does anyone even know we're in trouble?" Renae asked. Skipper explained how Magellan had called him. "What? You spoke to my dad? What did he say? Can you call him back?"

"I tried. It didn't work," Skipper said. "But they're looking for us, at least, even if something was jamming the signal."

Kowalski sat up suddenly. "Jamming? As in, interference?" Skipper nodded. "That's odd. There's no one else out here. How could there be interference?"

"Oh, who cares?" Renae sighed, sadly looking down at her ruined painting. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Let's think about it in the morning."

"I'm liking that plan," Skipper said, using his backpack as a pillow. "Goodnight." He yawned and turned off the flashlight.

In the darkness, Kowalski lay awake, listening to the sounds of the flapping tent walls and the loud but soothing patter of rain. He kept trying to work out what could have jammed the signal. Maybe there was a city nearer than they though. If Skipper had set off in an Easterly direction …

It was no use, he was too tired to calculate it. Kowalski let the rain lull him into a deep sleep. The wind continued to whistle, but the penguins no longer had any energy to care, each slipping into his or her own dreams to escape their harsh reality.


	5. A Puzzling Rescue

Skipper was awoken by sharp pains in all of his muscles. He blinked open his eyes to see a dark green sky above him. Where was he? As he rubbed the sand out of his eyes, he began to remember. He sat up with a jolt, causing another burning sensation to shoot through his muscles. Renae and Kowalski were still sleeping, looking perfectly peaceful. Kowalski was snoring.

Skipper stood up, head almost brushing against the vinyl ceiling, and unzipped the tent's front entrance. Outside, branches were scattered across the sand from last night's wind and rain. The sky was clear now, however, and the sun was hanging high and proud in the blue expanse. From its position, he guessed it was about 0800 hours. He pondered waking the other two, but decided to let them get as much rest as they needed. Despite his soreness and tiredness, he felt glad to be alive and ready to face the day.

He exited the tent and set about gathering the branches for later use. When he had accumulated a large pile, he sat down and stared at the sea. It was such a tranquil morning.

"_Ow! _You just kicked me!"

"Huh—wha? No I didn't."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

Skipper sighed. It _had _been a tranquil morning. He walked back to the tent and opened the flap. "Good morning, privates. Ready for duty?" He got two groans in response. Skipper chuckled. "Well, looks like we have two very chipper early birds, don't we?"

"If Kowalski hadn't snored like a herd of buffalo, maybe," Renae grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"I don't snore!" Kowalski protested, sitting up.

"Actually, you do," Skipper said. "Come on, let's pack up quickly so we can get a real campsite set up in a forest clearing."

"Woah, wait, we're going _into _the forest full of jaguars and anacondas?" Renae asked.

"Not very far in. And we'll be fine if we stick together. We need to be closer to that freshwater spring if we want to be sure of our survival. It could take a team days to find us without exact coordinates." Skipper lifted his pack out of the tent. "Let's eat a little more of that tuna and get going."

They were soon packed up, but before they went, Skipper walked over to his pile of sticks.

"What are you doing?" Kowalski asked.

"This area is open and easy to see," Skipper explained, lifting a stick from the pile. "I'm making a signal." Skipper began arranging the branches into letters, and once Renae and Kowalski figured what he was doing, they helped. Soon they had a giant 'SOS' stretching out across the beach.

"Smart," Renae praised.

"Indeed it is," Kowalski agreed. "A plane should be able to spot that from the air."

"Alright, now that that's done, through the woods to grandmother's house we go," Skipper said, rubbing his flippers together.

* * *

"I liked the beach better."

"Kowalski, quit complaining," Skipper said, knocking away a vine with a machete. "You know we need better shelter."

Kowalski smacked away a bug and stepped over a thorny plant. "I'm full aware of the reasons why we're doing this. I'm just saying … I liked the beach better."

Skipper responded with only an eye roll as the penguins continued to battle their way through the forest. It seemed that the plant life existed merely to frustrate the trio. Their short legs were of no help to them.

Renae pushed a branch out of her way and let go, allowing the twig to bounce back to its original position. This inadvertently—though not unexpectedly—resulted in Kowalski being smacked in the face by wood and leaves.

"Hey!"

"You should watch where you're going."

"Sh," Skipper said, holding out a flipper to stop them. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Sh!" They strained their ears. Skipper scanned the jungle around them. There it was again—a low, ominous hissing.

"Okay, I hear it now," Kowalski gulped.

"A snake?" Renae posed, eyes nervously darting back and forth.

"No, that's not a snake," Kowalski replied. Skipper and Renae breathed sighs of relief. "That's _many_ snakes." The relief was gone.

"Is it just me, or is the hissing getting louder?" Renae asked.

"Not just you," Skipper answered. "I think—" Before he could finish his sentence, a dozen long, silvery reptiles slipped out from under the bushes and surrounded them, giving a cold black stare.

"T-Timothy? Are those venomous?" Renae moved behind him.

"Don't call me—you know what? This isn't the time. I believe those would be _Tachymenis chilensis_, a.k.a. Chilean Slender Snakes, a.k.a. venomous." Kowalski in turn moved behind Skipper, who raised an eyebrow.

"Chilean? What are they doing in Colombia?"

"Well, I could be wrong. There are a lot of slender snakes, mostly in—" He was interrupted by Renae's scream when the biggest of the snakes flung himself forward. Skipper got in a ready stance, but the reptile stopped short of them.

"Well, what have we here?" the snake hissed. He had a suave Spanish accent, much like a certain villain who Skipper and Kowalski would meet far into the future. "We have tracked down the penguin agentsss. We have done well. You are coming with ussss."

"I guess I was right about the species," Kowalski shivered.

"We won't do nothin'," Skipper growled, gripping the machete tighter.

"Um, Skipper, that's a double negative."

Skipper rolled his eyes. "We won't do _anything_. How did the Duke find us?"

"He hasss his waysss." The snake's eyes flashed. "You leave us no choice. You fight, we will bite."

"Battle stations!" Skipper shouted as the slithering villain launched himself forward. The three penguins jumped into a triangle, back-to-back. Kowalski pulled a pair of nunchucks out of his pack, and Renae grabbed a manriki chain. They then slipped off their heavy backpacks to better move. The fighting was a blur of silver and black-and-white. Skipper used the blunt end of his machete to knock several snakes away, and Renae, using her chain as a whip, lassoed three of them and threw them against a tree. Kowalski used his nunchucks with surprising skill, adding two more unconscious snakes to the pile. For a while it seemed they were winning, but the reptiles recovered quickly. There were many more of them then there were penguins, and they used a fighting style the trio wasn't used to. They slithered back and forth with surprising speed; it was nearly impossible to keep track of them all at once.

"Stay in a tight circle," Skipper commanded. "Don't let them break through and we should be fine." Renae whipped her chain a little too hard, and the end jerked out of her flipper. It tangled around one of the snakes several feet away. "Renae, don't—" She was already darting forward to retrieve her weapon. Seeing their opening, the snakes surrounded each penguin individually, making them spin in circles to defend themselves. Skipper caught sight of Renae, who had retrieved her weapon and was locked in a stare with the reptile band's leader.

"You look familiar …," he thought he heard the snake say. Four more surrounded her. Skipper sliced the snake he was doing battle with in half, and ran up to try and defend her. To his surprise, Renae held up a flipper to stop him.

"Let me do this," she said. "This is my fight."

_What is she talking about? _"Renae, we have to work together!"

"Not this time! Help Kowalski!" Skipper was about to protest before he saw that Kowalski had lost his nunchucks and was tied up with ropes of leathery scales. He belly-slid to his comrade just in time to take off the head of the snake that was about to bite him.

"Skipper! Thanks," Kowalski exclaimed, wriggling out of the snake's now-limp grip and grabbing his nunchucks off the ground. "Where's Renae?" They turned in unison to realize that all of the snakes had surrounded her. Kowalski would have paled if his feathers hadn't already been white. "Skipper, we have to—"

"I know." Skipper motioned for Kowalski to come with him, and they belly-slid towards Renae.

"Guys, don't," Renae yelled, fiercely whipping one of the snakes. "Get out of here!"

"No penguin gets left behind!" Skipper shouted back, charging in with his machete. The lead serpent managed to constrict around Renae's flipper, making her drop her manriki chain. The king of the reptiles grabbed her weapon with his tail, and used it to knock her down.

"No!" Kowalski dove in front of her just as the slender snake was about to strike, and his fangs caught Kowalski's right flipper. Renae gasped as the scientist dropped.

"K'walski!" Skipper tried to get to the others, but one of the six snakes vying for victory over him finally succeeded in landing a bite. His vision blurred as painful neurotoxin began to paralyze his muscles. The jungle began to flicker out of sight, the sounds of insects and birds became slurred. The last thing he remembered was a black-and-white figure hovering above him.

* * *

Skipper awoke for the second time that day—if it even was the same day—with burning, aching muscles. Something was different this time, however; when he tried to move, he found he couldn't. _I failed … I couldn't protect my team. Again. _

… _Where are we, anyway? _He couldn't feel anything on his skin—he was sure he was lying down on something hard, but was it ground or concrete? Were they in the villain's lair?

As his vision returned and he saw a tan tarp above him, he realized he was wrong. The snakes must have taken them to their camp. But then, why was he still alive?

"Awake! That didn't take very long." The voice was vaguely familiar, but not at all snake-like. Skipper squinted to see a penguin standing over him.

"Who … huh? What in the name of ju-jitsu is going on?" Skipper mumbled.

"I'm Agent Sphenson. Thank goodness I found you guys—and just in time, too." Sphenson was as tall as Kowalski, a Magellanic penguin like Renae. He looked a _lot _like Renae, actually. Almost as if they were related.

"Are the others alright?" Skipper asked. The paralysis felt like it was wearing off, and he managed to sit up.

"They're alive. Should be alright. Your mission file should have told you I've been tracking the Duke and his serpent cronies for a long time. I never go anywhere without some antidote." He reached a flipper down, which Skipper gladly took.

"Thank you," Skipper said when he had been pulled up. "We would have been goners. You were really a godsend."

"Hey, you guys are my help in tracking this guy down. I couldn't just let you die, now, could I?" Agent Sphenson gave a half-smile.

Skipper chuckled. "Guess not."

"So, I'm guessing you're Skipper Fidelis?"

"That would be me." Skipper made their acquaintance official by shaking flippers. "Here to offer any assistance in whatever way possible."

"Jay Sphenson, at your service," the agent said, giving a dramatic bow. Skipper looked at his rescuer more closely; he was probably no more than a couple years older than him, with several feathers falling over one of his green eyes. "Feeling up for a tour of my humble camp?"

"Sure," Skipper replied. The two of them left the tent and stepped out into a small clearing, close to the freshwater spring Skipper had been aiming for in the first place. "How long have you been in this spot? I was here just yesterday."

"Well, I've been moving around a lot, trying to find you guys. Set up last night right before the storm hit. You musta just missed me."

"That's pretty ironic." Skipper took a look around. A large fire pit sat in the center of the clearing, and by it Renae lay on a blanket, unmoving. Another small tent sat further to the back. Wrapping around the perimeter like a fence was a jumble of sharp sticks wedged into the jungle soil. Through this fence the spring could be seen. Skipper's eyes fell on Renae once more and saw she was stirring. He gave Agent Sphenson a nudge, and they walked to her side.

"Good, she's coming around," Sphenson said, kneeling to place a flipper on her.

"Hm … huh?" Renae murmured, blinking open her eyes. Suddenly she sat up and punched Jay in the face.

"_Ow! _What was that for?!" Agent Sphenson rubbed his beak. Renae stared at him in confusion for a while before looking around at the camp.

"Oh … where—where are we? Where are the snakes?" Renae asked. Skipper tried not to laugh, but couldn't help snickering.

"You're _safe_ now, Rae. As in, there's no need to punch your poor cousin in the face," Jay grumbled.

"Jay! Oh my goodness, I'm sorry!" Renae gasped. "I thought—nevermind. You probably deserved that for _something_ anyway." She gave a half-smile.

Skipper raised his eyebrows. "Wait … you two are … cousins?" He looked from one penguin to the other, feeling first puzzled, then a little left out. "And you didn't think to tell me this at the start of the mission?"

Renae shrugged. "It wasn't really important at the time." Skipper crossed his flippers, unable to argue.

"Hey, you mean you didn't talk about me? You wound me, cuz," Jay said, feigning sorrow. "Figuratively _and _literally." He rubbed his beak again.

Renae chuckled, then her smile reversed itself. "Wait, where's Kowalski?"

Jay's expression also turned more serious. "In the other tent. I don't know why, but the bite he received was meant to kill, unlike yours which were less severe."

"Because … because that was meant for me," Renae said quietly.

"Hold it," Skipper commanded. "There's more to this than I'm understanding. Anyone want to tell me what in the name of space squids is going on?"

Renae and her cousin both awkwardly looked away. "It's nothing important," Renae said eventually. "Let's check on Kowalski." She struggled to her feet. Skipper followed them toward the tent, more suspicious than ever.


End file.
